


The Perfect Time

by cairistiona13



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Consensual Underage Sex, Cunnilingus, F/F, Falling In Love, Genderbending, Genderswap, Girls Kissing, High School, Implied/Referenced Underage, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Underage Sex, Wushu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cairistiona13/pseuds/cairistiona13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kim Junkyung thinks she’s fallen for wushu, but it might actually be the girl in the wushu uniform instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Time

**Author's Note:**

> Suho is Junkyung and Tao is Aitao.

Everything begins on a warm summer’s day.

Kim Junkyung doesn’t usually stay this late after school, but she’d volunteered to help out one of her busy teachers, and is currently trying to find a younger student named Kim Jongin. He’s supposed to be in the gym, but the gym has a sign up saying that everyone’s gone to the sports field outside, so Junkyung heads there instead.

Their school’s sports field is a large space of greenery in the middle of their town that gets used whenever it’s sunny, whether it’s used by school clubs or leased out after school to external clubs for football or other uses. When she reaches the field, she learns that today it’s been internally double-booked because it’s so warm. The all-male school football team takes up most of the field, separated into two sides. She recognises Jongin, along with Minseok from her class, and makes her way over to the group.

“Hey, Jongin-sshi,” she says, catching him as they begin to disperse into their positions. She’s never spoken to him before, but she recognises his face from the school magazine. “Byun-seonsaengnim is looking for you.”

He groans, but doesn’t complain. Instead, he heads over to the coach and asks for permission to leave. Junkyung waits for him patiently, having been given the task to escort him back as well.

She turns away to allow him privacy to explain his situation to the coach, and instead focuses on the other group using the sports field.

This group is much smaller than the two-side football team, only ten or so people, all dressed in silk or cotton robes of various colours and styles. The majority of the group are male, but there are three girls, all with their hair pulled back into smart black ponytails. Two of the girls are wearing pink with short sleeves, but the last girl, almost as tall as the boys, is wearing a sleeveless red uniform, cut more like one of the boys’. Her arms are strong and solid, tanned a beautiful brown from the sun. If Junkyung were to stand next to her, she’d look like a tiny, waiflike ghost.

Junkyung doesn’t know what they’re doing, but she watches as they all bend and move in beautiful ways, kicking the air, pushing with their hands.

“They’re really graceful, aren’t they, Sunbae?” Jongin says, coming to stand next to her.

She nods. “What are they doing?”

“It’s wushu,” he explains. “Chinese Martial Arts. We have practice at the same time, so I get to see them perform a lot.”

“It’s beautiful,” Junkyung says as they start walking towards the group, heading back to school. They stop for a few moments, just watching the movements. It’s one of the loveliest things Junkyung has ever seen. She focuses on the tall girl with the strong arms; Junkyung doesn’t know enough to judge skill, but she thinks that girl looks like she was born to do this. Although her tall body looks like it could be gangly and out-of-proportion, she makes every movement work completely, falling into position naturally.

It doesn’t help that she’s honestly beautiful. She’s got gorgeous dark eyes, high sculptured cheekbones, and a chiselled chin that looks like it could cut glass—maybe not classically pretty, not girl-next-door pretty in the way people always tell Junkyung she is, with her soft features and kind smile, but more attractive in a unique and exciting way. She’s the kind of _interesting_ -pretty that appeals to Junkyung aesthetically. She’s one of the most stunning things, _people_ , Junkyung has ever seen.

“We’ve got an audience!” the coach says with a laugh, noticing them. Junkyung jumps, not having realised that there was a coach, or that he’d noticed them. “Aitao, show them something worth watching.”

The tall girl Junkyung was watching steps forward, out of their neat rows of choreographed perfection. She bows to both of them before launching straight into a routine that is more beautiful than anything Junkyung has ever seen before—she kicks, punches, twirls. At one point Aitao comes close enough for Junkyung to see the sweat glisten on her body when she moves into a flip that has her legs sail over Jongin’s head easily, like he isn’t centimetres taller than Aitao herself. The flip seems to be in slow motion, perfectly timed for Junkyung to see the exertion on her beautiful face and the control in her biceps.

The whole performance causes something to thrum through Junkyung’s body. Junkyung decides to call it joy and appreciation and realises that she wants to see this girl perform again.

She thanks Aitao as politely as she is able, trying not to be too embarrassing with how much she liked it. Aitao’s voice is silky smooth and warm when she tells her that she enjoys performing and Junkyung swallows hard. She hastily apologises, stating that they have to leave.

“Will you watch us again?” Aitao asks, sounding almost hopeful, and something in Junkyung’s stomach flutters.

“Maybe,” Junkyung says, and leads Jongin back to the school.

“Did you like that, Sunbae?” Jongin asks, although he sounds like he’s unsure if he should be asking her that.

She smiles. “Yes,” she says. “I think I could watch them again.”

“Aitao is in my class,” Jongin continues. “I’ll ask her when the next meeting is, if you’d like? And if you’re allowed to watch.”

The idea of being able to go to official meetings, to watch them, _Aitao_ , practice—Junkyung gulps. Jongin grins at her.

“You should join, you know,” he says, and now he’s _definitely_ stepping over the lines of what’s acceptable, but Junkyung can’t find it in her to complain and scold him. The idea is somewhat appealing—being that close to them. “I know you do a lot of schoolwork, but it might be a way for you to relax?” They’ve reached the main corridor by now. It’s a direct route to the classroom from here, and the hallways are deserted. This conversation is going on far too long for Junkyung’s liking.

“Don’t get cheeky,” she chides him lightly. “I’ll think about it.” He keeps grinning at her and she rolls her eyes. “Right,” she says, stopping in front of the familiar classroom. “Byun-seonsaengnim’s room. I hope you didn’t get in trouble.”

“Of course not, Sunbae,” he says, and waves before entering the classroom and shutting the door behind him.

Junkyung takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes. For a moment, all she can see is Aitao’s face, upside-down, as she flipped in front of them. Junkyung shakes her head to remove it and heads to her form room to collect her bag.

 

True to his word, Jongin finds her a few days later, alone in the classroom during lunch, and informs her that she can go and watch the wushu club practice whenever she wants.

This is why Junkyung finds herself standing nervously outside the door to the clubroom ten minutes before the next meeting starts, trying to work out if she should go inside and wait or not.

“The room won’t bite,” she hears from behind her, and she spins around to see Aitao standing there.

She looks different out of the wushu uniform. Her hair is pulled back in a fishtail plait, revealing that she has multiple piercings in each ear, which Junkyung knows are against regulation. Her skirt is too short and her shirt ill-fitting, baggy around her body, though clearly by design rather than accident, and her tie is nowhere to be seen. Standing next to her in her knee-length skirt and fitted shirt, with tie perfectly aligned in a basic Four-in-Hand tie knot, Junkyung feels extremely uncool, for the first time in her life.

“I was just waiting,” Junkyung says, a few beats after it would be appropriate to reply. She tries to tamp down the urge to blush with embarrassment—Kim Junkyung doesn’t get embarrassed, or at least not for silly things.

Kim Junkyung also doesn’t need to be cool.

Aitao shakes her head, the corners of her lips turned up in an almost-smile. She reaches around Junkyung to open the door and gestures towards it. “After you, Sunbae,” she says.

The room is large and empty, with stacks of chairs leaning against the wall and no tables to speak of. Aitao heads straight over to the chairs.

“We need to set them out into a ring. Will you help me?”

Junkyung nods and together they prepare the clubroom for the other members of the club.

They’re almost finished when the others arrive. Junkyung takes her chair over to the side of the room and observes them.

The boys are a mixture of playful and serious, a couple having a teasing argument as a third chaperones to make sure that nothing happens, and the two girls are well-composed out of their wushu uniforms. Junkyung realises that Aitao really is just an anomaly in the group. It would be strange if her grasp of wushu wasn’t so heightened, if she wasn’t so _good_ at it.

She wonders why Aitao is so good at it; is it talent or desire to be the best? Is it something she enjoys or something she has to do? Suddenly all kinds of questions run through her mind, things she wants to know about wushu and Aitao’s involvement in it. She hopes she will get the chance to ask them later.

The meeting, once it starts, is rather boring; just standard rules and procedures for the coming match in a few weeks. Junkyung is mostly bored until Aitao shows them all a new move she wants them to try, all beautiful curves and elegant sweeps. She looks strange doing it in her school uniform, yet Junkyung feels the desperate urge to be as beautiful as her, just once.

At the end of the meeting, she waits until everyone except Aitao has left. “Do you think I could try some wushu, sometime?” she asks, trying not to appear too hopeful.

Aitao’s smile in return is enormous, happy and beautiful. Junkyung smiles back.

 

Junkyung is too much of a beginner to join the club, so Aitao volunteers to privately teach her the basics. They start having lessons during the second hour of lunch, every day until the match, which Aitao is competing in.

Practice appears to involve a lot more hands-on help than Junkyung had realised.

Aitao is very affectionate. She likes to have one hand on Junkyung at almost all times, one hand moving her into position, one hand, perhaps, balancing her. She’ll help thrust Junkyung’s hand outwards, body so close to Junkyung’s back that she can feel the warmth radiate from her. She’ll hold Junkyung’s knee as she learns to balance and pose just right, her fingers soft against Junkyung’s sweaty skin.

Junkyung likes it, though it’s distracting. She isn’t sure why.

She also isn’t sure why she never wants Aitao to stop touching her, and she dreads the end of their practices, because that’s when she and Aitao have to separate, and she doesn’t like that at all.

They also get to talk when they’re cooling down and packing up. Aitao’s been doing wushu since she was tiny; only three years old. After her family moved to Korea, they found schools that had a wushu club that competed just so she could continue doing it.

“I love it,” Aitao says one day, whilst Junkyung tries to relax. “It’s my passion. My dream is to become one of the best female martial artists. I’ve been training with a _Gun_ , a long staff, since I was young, and more recently a _Dao_ , a short curved sword. I want to be able to show that I can master them as well as any seventeen year-old can.”

Junkyung nods her head frantically. “You can,” she says. “You’re so good at it. I bet when you were younger you could already do much better than I am.” Wushu is much harder than she’d thought it would be. She isn’t entirely sure she’s very good at it; she doesn’t really have the fluidity or body control for it.

“You’re not that bad,” Aitao says kindly. “You at least remember the basic movements! And you can breathe and meditate very well for a beginner.”

“Only with your help,” Junkyung tells her. “Without you here, I’d be a wreck. I don’t think my body can move this way without you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Aitao says. “You’re doing so well.”

Junkyung feels a flush of warmth at this, coursing through her body in pleasure and pride at being praised, and as she shuts her eyes, trying to fight down the blush, she feels a soft, wet pressure on her cheek, as if someone had kissed her.

When she opens her eyes, Aitao’s exactly as she was before, but she’s got a strange, shy smile on her face.

Long after they’ve gone their separate ways, Junkyung presses her hand to her cheek in confusion and wonders what it means.

 

Despite their different years, Jongin has become a staple in her life. Sometimes he comes to join her during lunch. Junkyung doesn’t have many friends, so secretly she enjoys the company.

“How’s Aitao treating you?” he’ll ask, and she’ll be halfway through explaining a new pose she’d learnt when he covers his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh. His reasoning always comes down to one thing:

“You _really_ like Aitao, don’t you?”

Junkyung always tries to say that Aitao is very friendly and helpful, but she has a feeling that this isn’t what Jongin had been referring to.

“It’s okay,” Jongin says, the next time he teases her. “You know I don’t care about any of that stuff. I won’t tell anyone.”

“About _what_?” Junkyung asks, somewhat exasperated. “There’s nothing to tell.”

He gives a long-suffering sigh. “Your crush on Aitao, of course,” he replies, and rolls his eyes at her.

She just stops everything. Stops blinking, stops moving, and just stares blankly at Jongin.

“Oh, come on,” Jongin says. “Don’t give me that deer-in-the-headlights look, Noona.” (She also isn’t sure when he went from calling her _Sunbae_ to calling her _Noona_ , but he did it without asking permission, and, strangely, she doesn’t mind. Most of the time.) “You had to have known.”

She drops her head to rest on her hands lying on the table, as whatever had held her frozen releases her. “I never thought of it like that before,” she says, voice dulled by the table. To her, it’s always been different. It’s never been about that.

But, as much as she wants to deny it, to say that she likes boys and her feelings for Aitao are the perfectly natural feelings of admiration for a pretty and talented friend and underclassman, she can’t. Most girls don’t want their friends to touch them all the time, and they don’t feel sad when their friend stops touching them. They don’t feel warm and attracted when their friend touches them, and they don’t feel that desire to feel their amazing fingers between their legs.

Junkyung groans at the sudden dream this thought inspires; them practising as normal, Aitao’s hand on her thigh, supporting her knee, and then sliding it up, under her skirt and around to press against her knickers. She feels herself respond in real time, growing warm and wet and beginning to throb at the desire to be touched.

“I’m going to die,” she says.

“Don’t be overdramatic, Noona,” Jongin says, and she jolts, because for a moment she’d forgotten he was there. She tries her best to cool herself down by thinking about anyone except Aitao, because she doesn’t want him to see how turned-on she is. “You’re not going to die. You should probably tell her, though.”

She whips her head up to face him at this. “Tell her?!” she almost shrieks, and then blushes in absolute mortification as she realises that people on the nearby tables turned to look at her. She slinks down in her chair and covers her face with her hands so she can’t see them looking.

“Yes,” Jongin says. “Tell her. You never know what’ll happen.”

“Or she’ll hate me,” Junkyung says.

“She won’t,” Jongin says. He sounds very sure. “I know Aitao. She won’t hate you.”

Junkyung worries her lip. Is she brave enough to tell Aitao her feelings? She isn’t sure she is. But what else can she do?

 

It becomes a moot point anyway. As the match draws closer, Aitao spends less time teaching and touching Junkyung and more time practising, although she allows Junkyung to watch her. Junkyung simply doesn’t have the time to bring up her feelings, and she also doesn’t want to put this pressure on Aitao before the match. What if Aitao is too busy thinking about her confession to focus on wushu, and loses because of her? She couldn’t bear it.

So Aitao remains oblivious of Junkyung’s desperate need to kiss her and feel her fingers inside her, and Junkyung remains in awe and lust at the ways Aitao is able to move her body. At least she gets to watch Aitao; to watch how beautifully she poses and how clean her moves are. It makes up for it.

And soon the match is upon them. Aitao invites her to come and watch her.

“My parents won’t be able to come, due to work, but they have seats booked. I’d be delighted if you could come, and you can sit in one of their seats so it won’t go to waste.”

“I would absolutely love to come!” Junkyung gushes. Aitao looks very pleased. “I can ask Jongin too, if you’d like both seats filled?”

Aitao makes a strange face, but nods her head. “Thank you,” she says. Junkyung wonders what that look had meant.

It’s happening in their school hall, during the weekend, so Junkyung gets to see the preparation for it; the way the hall has the bleachers set up, and has the floor set out so there are thin mats on the floor and a judge’s box at the end of the hall. Later, she gets to see the arrival of the other competitors. The competition appears to be a lot bigger than Junkyung had thought, when she sees all the buses from other schools outside in the car park. There are all kinds of students in all kinds of different uniforms. They haven’t changed into their wushu uniforms yet.

Junkyung has since learnt that these groups are not in teams the way one would expect. They are all individually entered, but also represent the school. Aitao, the two boys and one other girl from their club who entered the tournament are, on the one hand, fighting each other to win, but, on the other hand, will also congratulate each other if one of them wins, because it will make their school look good. It’s a very confusing system.

Jongin had agreed to come, but as soon as they file into the hall, he starts complaining. “I don’t know why I’m coming,” he says. “I feel like I’m chaperoning your date, and it’s weird.”

“She’s your friend too!” Junkyung replies. “It’s not like you don’t know her. I just wanted her money not to go to waste.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “Of course you did.” She doesn’t need to be looking at him to know he’s rolling his eyes.

They find their seats, near the front, and sit down. They have a good view of the cushioned mats on the floor, as they sit to the left. They’ll be able to see the poses at nice angles, at least.

It takes some time to get everyone into their seats before the competition starts. It’s organised by age group and sex and choice of tool, and competitions like these are often used to help build teams for the East Asian Games. Aitao has been talking about how she wants to compete for days now. It’s a big championship, the next one down from the Asian Games, or Asiad.

They get introductions and speeches before the first basic round begins; boys as young as eleven, followed shortly by girls of the same age. They’re separated into the _Dao_ , _Nandao_ , _Gun_ , _Jian_ , _Qiang_ styles. As the competition wears on, Junkyung is reminded once again of why she’d first fallen for wushu. The way the children move; their angles and poses, and the way they use their choice of weapon—even those who fight bare-handed are full of fierce elegance. She swears one child, a tiny eleven year old, actually parts the air with her fists.

At the end of each subsection of the competition, the winner is called out and their prize awarded—usually a cup and sometimes a small cheque. The tiny girl wins her match. Others who also fight beautifully are not so lucky.

It takes hours before Aitao’s matches begin, and in that time Junkyung sees many different types of beautiful fighting done by many different people, and lots of cups exchanging hands. The whole competition is absolutely amazing—but none of the competitors are Aitao. None of them take Junkyung’s breath away. In Junkyung’s eyes, none of them is worthy of gaining first prize.

When Aitao finally comes up for her first routine, with a Dao, dressed in a new well-fitting wushu uniform in red, Jongin and Junkyung both scream for her, trying to show their support.

Aitao gives a brief smile before launching into a perfectly choreographed routine that sets Junkyung’s heart racing. By the time she bows to signal she’s finished, Junkyung’s chest is pounding.

“Wasn’t she amazing?” she hisses to Jongin, who just smiles.

However, she does not win her Dao match. Junkyung thinks it’s a farce, but she can’t argue with the decision of the multiple judges, who marked Aitao down for certain moves. Junkyung doesn’t have the technical knowledge required, only bias for Aitao. The girl who won over Aitao had also had a beautiful routine, Junkyung had to admit—grudgingly.

Aitao’s up twice more, with a Gun, using a perfect range of flips that Junkyung has grown to understand as typical of Aitao’s style—this one she _does_ win, to Junkyung’s absolute elation—and then a last time, bare-fisted.

If that little girl had parted the air, Aitao slices it. If she were fighting a human, Junkyung thinks her opponent would be dead seconds into the routine. She just knows exactly what she’s doing—but also makes it look effortless and a joy to watch.

If it were a show, Aitao would get a standing ovation for her performance. But it’s not a show, it’s a competition, and as such, Junkyung is only able to cheer her applause. She wishes that there was more she could do.

They don’t get to see Aitao before the results are called out for this final bare-fisted match, but it’s no surprise to Junkyung or Jongin when she’s awarded her second prize of the day. Junkyung’s voice is hoarse from all the screaming she’s done by this point and Jongin just laughs at her.

“Serves you right,” he teases. She just wrinkles her nose in return. She’s not at all upset about the events of the day.

Before they know it, the event is over and everyone is filing out of the hall.

Junkyung tries to find Aitao in the throng.

“I’m going to go home,” Jongin says. “I wish you luck.”

“Luck for what?” Junkyung asks absently, still scanning the area.

“You know what, Noona,” Jongin says. “Go get her.”

And then he’s gone, swallowed up by the throng of people, and Junkyung still can’t find Aitao.

“Hey,” she hears behind her, and she jumps, before turning to face Aitao, who is laughing.

“Sunbae,” Aitao says. She’s never stopped calling her that, despite Junkyung’s attempts to get her to use _Unnie_. “I’m happy you could come.”

Junkyung leans up to give her a hug, wrapping her arms around the solid warmth of Aitao’s body. She’s sticky with sweat but it isn’t entirely unappealing. Junkyung is just glad she gets to hold her like this, Aitao’s hands warm against Junkyung’s back. It makes the hours she was there entirely worth it. “Congratulations! You deserve those two awards,” Junkyung enthuses. “Your parents will be so proud of you.”

Aitao’s eyes twinkle. “Thank you! I need to shower, but I just wanted to find you first.”

Junkyung doesn’t feel like leaving her just yet, after so long. “I’ll—I’ll walk you back, if you want?” she offers, slightly awkwardly.

Aitao just smiles, and they make their way steadily from the hall to the changing rooms.

The girls’ changing room is empty, as the other girl had gone straight home. Aitao begins undressing the moment she gets into the room and Junkyung swallows dryly as she removes her shoes and then unties her wushu uniform, revealing a black sports bra and pants.

“I should go,” Junkyung mumbles, trying not to draw attention to the fact that her eyes haven’t left the swell of Aitao’s small breasts in their cups. “Let you shower.”

“Oh, no, stay!” Aitao says. “It’s not every day I get to talk to someone after a match. I’ve never seen myself practice the way you have, so I’d be delighted to hear what you thought of my match. Did you think the girl who won the first was better than me?”

The bra comes off. Aitao’s breasts are probably B cups at most, small and a bit paler than the surrounding skin, suggesting that she isn’t in the habit of sunbathing topless. Her nipples are hard. Junkyung doesn’t think it’s due to the cold, but then again, she hasn’t just been sweating. Though that’s debatable—she’s definitely sweating now.

Junkyung does not watch as Aitao’s underwear comes off, and tries to keep her eyes as high above the belt as possible.

“You could come and have a shower too, if you wanted?” Aitao offers, standing and gathering her clothes together. She puts them into a locker and gathers shampoo and soaps, giving Junkyung a good look at the smooth skin of her back. “It must have been warm in the hall with all those other people.”

Junkyung wants to protest, say that she’s fine, but her body and brain have other ideas. They both chime at her that _yes_ , this is an excellent idea.

So Junkyung finds herself shedding herself of her clothes as well, stripping down to her underwear and feeling somewhat nervous as she unclips her bra and pulls her pants down. She’s a lot paler than Aitao is, which she already knew, but it’s far easier to tell when they’re both naked. Her breasts are also a lot bigger than Aitao’s, and her hips wider. She’s always been told she’s pretty, but next to Aitao she feels inadequate.

Aitao puts Junkyung’s clothes in her locker with her own and then leads her through into the showers. They’re separated into stalls, but each stall is only waist-high and has no door to it.

They each enter a separate stall, shampoo and soaps between them, and turn their showers on. Aitao stands under the spray, eyes shut, and sighs loudly. Junkyung can’t help but watch her as she enjoys her shower.

Aitao soaps herself up in such a way that has pressure building between Junkyung’s thighs with how erotic it is, like a reverse striptease. She rubs her breasts and thighs with slow motions that allow Junkyung to watch everything perfectly.

Junkyung finds herself entirely unable to focus on washing herself, and she realises that she hasn’t done so much as shampoo her own hair when Aitao turns to face her and says, “Stuck on something?” with a smile in her eyes.

Junkyung blinks and shakes her head, blushing at the fact she’s been caught staring. “Sorry,” she says.

Aitao looks down at herself. “What were you looking at?” she asks, but there’s nothing in her voice to suggest there being a problem, just curiosity.

“Nothing,” Junkyung tries, but it’s obviously a lie. “It’s just—you’re really beautiful, and I’m a little envious.” She indicates herself, pointing to her hips.

Aitao jumps up onto the wall behind her, sitting with her hands on either side of her hips. “What do you mean you’re envious?” she sounds almost horrified. “You’re gorgeous. You’re so gorgeous.”

Junkyung blushes even deeper at the compliment, and the blush travels down her neck towards her breasts, nothing to conceal it.

“Come here,” Aitao says, and Junkyung finds herself stepping around the barrier between their stalls and into Aitao’s. “Look,” Aitao says, stretching her hands out to touch Junkyung, hands nowhere inappropriate. Her fingers glide across Junkyung’s hips, leaving trails of fire behind in the wetness, and Junkyung has to swallow a moan. All she wants to do is lean into Aitao’s hands and rut against her thigh, but she has to hold it in.

Aitao smooths her palm over Junkyung’s stomach. “See?” she says. “Look at how beautiful your skin is, how perfect these hips are. You’re going to make some man very happy someday.”

“I don’t want—” is out of her mouth before she can swallow down the words.

Aitao looks at her with a curious expression on her face, but says nothing about it. “Anyway, I’m really jealous of these,” she says, indicating Junkyung’s chest. “I may have grown taller, but I definitely stunted my breast growth with all the sports I did as a child, especially wushu. I would kill to have breasts like yours.”

And then she lifts her hand to cup one of Junkyung’s breasts. Junkyung sees it coming, but doesn’t move out of the way, even though it could save her. She lets Aitao caress her, and doesn’t quite stop the moan from escaping.

Aitao freezes, and then looks at her again. Junkyung breaks the gaze, looking somewhere over Aitao’s shoulder.

Aitao then swipes her thumb over Junkyung’s nipple and Junkyung once again can’t help the way she moans and falls forward towards Aitao.

“You like that,” Aitao says aloud. She sounds appreciative. Then she lifts her other hand to Junkyung’s other breast and caresses them together, causing Junkyung to tremble in her hold. She’d never realised that her chest was so sensitive until today. Or maybe it’s just that it’s Aitao. Everything is sensitive.

Junkyung doesn’t want Aitao to stop, so she finds herself breathing it. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she quietly begs, eyes shut.

“You’re okay with this? With me touching you?”

Junkyung can’t help but nod expressively. “You can touch me anywhere you want,” she breathes.

“Anywhere?” Aitao asks, and, when Junkyung nods, removes one of her hands from Junkyung’s breasts and trails it lightly and slowly down Junkyung’s body; over her stomach, ringing her belly button, and then down to the patch of hair between Junkyung’s legs. Junkyung parts her legs automatically, but wonders if it’s all just a practical joke.

Her fears are unfounded when, seconds later, a finger traces the lips between her legs. The feeling is wonderful and she breathes, “ _Yes_ ,” into the air.

The finger takes this as encouragement, slipping between her folds and up towards her clit.

“You’re so wet,” Aitao says. “How long have you wanted this?”

“Too long,” Junkyung whispers.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Aitao asks, her voice thick with confusion.

“I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what you’d think,” Junkyung says, panting heavier as Aitao rubs over her clit repeatedly before the finger slides down her body and pressing inside her slick wetness. She needs more. “More,” she whispers, and Aitao pushes two more fingers inside, pulling them out only to thrust them back in. Junkyung finds herself holding onto Aitao’s thighs for balance as her legs tremble.

“I’ve been hitting on you for weeks,” Aitao says simply. “I can’t think of anything I want to do more than to taste you.”

“Oh,” Junkyung says, her eyes wide now with surprise. Aitao’s are dilated with lust and it only takes Junkyung a moment to lunge in towards her, and Aitao to do the same, for their mouths to meet.

It’s messy and wet and perfect, Aitao’s tongue in Junkyung’s mouth and her fingers pressing inside her. Her thumb rubs over Junkyung’s clit repeatedly until Junkyung trembles with her release.

Junkyung pulls away to breathe, and Aitao takes her hand in hers, running it down her body to rest between her legs. Aitao is just as wet as she is, and it coats Junkyung’s fingers as she thrusts them in and out of Aitao’s body, her other hand massaging Aitao’s clit until she comes hard, panting into Junkyung’s mouth. By this point, Junkyung’s wet again from the vibrations and sensations.

“You’re wet again. Lie down,” Aitao says, fingers pressing into the upper creases of Junkyung’s thighs. “I want to do something I’ve wanted to do for some time now.”

Junkyung slides down into a sitting position and lies back into the floor tiles. In this position, the water from the shower hits her in just the right places, but not hard enough to make it count. She spreads her legs anyway and waits as Aitao pushes off the wall and crouches between Junkyung’s legs.

“I’m going to make you see stars,” Aitao promises, just before she leans down and licks at Junkyung’s clit.

Just one lick is enough to cause a jolt to run through Junkyung’s body, making her spasm and jerk off the ground. Multiple licks, hands on Junkyung’s hips to try and keep her steady, has her flailing about.

Junkyung’s never felt anything quite like the way she feels with Aitao’s lips wrapped around her clit, tongue pressed against it as she laps and sucks at it until Junkyung comes almost explosively.

Aitao wipes her mouth before reaching up to kiss Junkyung. The taste of herself is a little bitter as she sucks it from Aitao’s tongue, but she doesn’t mind that much.

“Next time,” Aitao says, “don’t leave it until after a competition.”

Junkyung laughs loudly. “I won’t,” she promises, and pauses for effect. “Tomorrow?”

Aitao laughs so hard she almost knees Junkyung in the crotch.


End file.
